


Bloodbags and Broomsticks

by dreamers_wonderland



Category: Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris, True Blood (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood Drinking, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Do not repost, Dubcon Kissing, Eric's a thot and thats a thing, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Original Character(s), Reader Insert, Sarcasm, Slow Burn, Tags to be added, Vampires, Violence, Witchcraft, death mentions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 09:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20690885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamers_wonderland/pseuds/dreamers_wonderland
Summary: As if Godric's death wasn't enough, being asked through his will to go stay with his progeny was a whole other problem. There was more politics, more work, and even more murder than Dallas could have ever offered you. But it wasn't too bad, right?At least Eric Northman didn't have a problem with your witchcraft.





	1. ~01~

_“My dearest child, so close to my heart, it pains me to write you this letter.”_

You had read it almost a thousand times throughout the day, folding and unfolding the letter you carried with you as you waited for night. It was getting there, you knew as you watched the Louisiana sky turn from blue to orange. The lights in the bar flicked on and the neon ‘Fangtasia’ cast a sickly red glow over the parking lot.

_“I do hope this letter finds you in good health, of course. I apologize that I could not be with you in the last moments of my life as I promised.”_

You folded it again, tracing your thumb over the worn crease in the middle, watching from across the street as people started to pull into Fangtasia.

_“I sent you away during this trying time out of concern for your safety. I feared that, had my actions been made known to you, that you would try to stop me. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I apologize.”_

You shoved the letter into the pocket of your jeans and quickly glanced down one side of the street, than another. When no cars crossed your path, you jogged into the parking lot.

_“A lawyer will meet with you in the coming weeks concerning my earthly possessions, most of which I have left to you. It behooves Isabel why I leave almost all I had to a human, but she knows you, and knows how much you mean to me. That, my child, is the only gift I could think to leave you when I take myself out of this world.”_

You followed the crowd of people to the front door, slowing as the blonde nearby raked her gaze up and down your body. She eyed your messy and ink stained jeans. “You don’t meet the dress code, hun,” she mused.

You shook your head and hesitantly held out the letter. “I’m not here for fun,” you said, “I’m here to work.”

_“While you adjust to a life away from the nest - from home, please know that I now leave you in the care of my progeny, Eric Northman. I have sent word to him of this arrangement, and he has agreed to full time employment for you while you find a new home.”_

She glanced over the letter and when her eyes settled on the signature at the bottom, they went wide. She pushed the door open with the flat of her hand and shoved the letter back to you. “He’s inside,” she grumbled.

_“Please continue to learn. Continue to grow. Continue to leave your print on the world so that others like me may see what we have left behind when we turned.”_

The letter ended in large and looping letters, reminiscent of old French calligraphy: Godric. You brushed your fingers over the indentations of his name as you walked inside. Eric matched Godric’s description to the letter: tall and imposing, large eyes, hunched shoulders, and blond hair that was slicked back and out of his eyes. Even now you would say he was viking like. He was emerging from a door near the back of the bar, most likely an office of sorts, when you cleared the entryway.

He lifted his chin when he saw you and his shoulders dropped back until he stood tall. For all of Godric’s stories about him, it was hard to finally have a face to put them all to. Eric’s eyes dropped to the floor. The soft pink lines around his eyes darkened for a moment. He blinked, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling before they landed on you again. He crossed the bar in a few strides.

“You must be Godric’s human,” he said as he came close. You gripped the letter tighter in your hands and nodded as he said your name. You didn’t mention how his voice caught on Godric’s name. You hoped he wouldn’t mention how your eyes were starting to water. He cleared his throat. “I’ve been asked to employ you.”

“And I’m grateful for that, really,” you said. You stepped a little closer to him and regretted it as you craned your neck to look up at him. “I wasn’t…” You couldn’t find the words to describe how you had lived in the nest, used the time that Godric gave you to research and learn more about your path in life without the worries of bills or groceries or a home. You swallowed a lump that was forming in your throat. “Thank you,” you finally said.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he said. His hand slid across your shoulders as he turned to walk next to you. He led you across the bar back towards the office. “You may not appreciate the jobs that we have for you.”

“I don’t think you understand how desperate I am, sir,” you mumbled.

He smirked at the ‘sir’, smug and appreciative and probably enjoying it more than he should. “Then you wouldn’t be above janitorial work,” he said. He opened the office door. “We can’t just throw you behind the bar, you know. You have to learn.” His voice was sympathetic but his face amused. You stepped into the office, running your thumb over the crease again.

“Maybe I could look for employment elsewhere,” you offered.

Eric tsked. The door clicked shut. “Oh, would you deny what Godric has given you? A job without complaint and perhaps even a place to stay until you find one,” he mused. You looked up at him and bit back a string of unkind words. “Godric asked me to take you as my human.” Eric lowered himself into his chair and leaned back in it. His smirk grew into a grin. “And I intend to do that.” He shrugged. His bottom lip poked out when he did it. “Denying the protection of a sheriff wouldn’t be the wisest move.”

You stared at the letter as a long and low groan rumbled from your throat. He was starting to snicker as you did so. You knew, standing in that office, clutching the only life line you had left, that you were left with no choice. You thought of Godric. This is what he wanted. You swallowed the groan with an annoyed growl and looked up at him. “Alright then. Tell me what to do.”

He sat up and dropped his elbows on the desk. “We have paperwork to fill out. And then, you will be a rightful employee of Fangtasia.” He smiled and his fangs clicked into place. Your groan started up again.

_Godric_ you mentally prayed as you lowered yourself into the chair opposite Eric _I hope beyond hope that you knew what you were putting me into with your last request._


	2. ~02~

Eric Northman had a modest house. It was two floors, with stairs leading up to the porch. It was brown on the outside with a large tree in the front yard that was probably older than the neighborhood. You used the key he had given you to open the front door.

While it was the middle of the day outside, you would have thought it was midnight inside. Every one of the many windows that decorated the house was sealed, making it light tight and vampire friendly. You squinted as you struggled to see into the house and shut the door behind you.

“And here I thought you’d changed your mind.”

You turned to the voice as a light clicked on in the living room. It was horribly cliche, like one of those scenes where someone tries to scare another when they’ve been out after curfew. You turned to the vampire sitting one of the few chic lounge chairs the living room had to offer. Eric stared back at you. His ears bled. You pointed to your own ears as you moved to lean on the doorframe. “You’re bleeding.”

“How observant of you,” he replied. He sat back, the leather creaking under his movements. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“I just moved in and you’re already down for pillow talk? How sweet,” you commented. Eric’s eyes rolled up to your face in annoyance. You held up your hands. “Kidding.” You dropped your hands. They were pruned and hurt from scrubbing the floors of the bar. You heaved a sigh and let your bag fall to the floor. As you did, you checked your watch. It was already eleven. You groaned and pushed away from the frame. “I’m going to bed.”

“Don’t forget,” he said as you started up the stairs, “The bar opens at sundown.”

You took a deep breath and started up the stairs. They were close to the wall, narrow and steep, and turned sharply as they went up. You leaned against the wall at the top when you reached it, fingers slipping off the rail. Your eyes scanned the walls. They still stunned you. They were so normal. If it weren’t for the light tight windows, you would have thought it was a normal house.

There were pictures practically covering the wallpapered surfaces from floor to ceiling. The frames were varied in age, as were the pictures they held. You tilted your head and moved away from the stairs, careful to keep from brushing the wall next to you. It, too, was filled with photos. To the far right of the hall, near what you thought was the master bedroom, were oil paintings of various sizes. Then, there were sketches, followed by old sepia and black and white pictures. Sketches, photographs, polaroid’s. There were so many pictures filling the wall. All of them contained Eric. Some had Godric. The more recent ones had Pam. You tilted your head as you stared at the oldest on the wall.

The stairs creaked. You looked over, watched as Eric ducked his head to avoid the stairwell light. His back hunched as he leaned on the wall where you once sat. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked.

“Just interesting,” you murmured. You hugged your sides, tilting your head. “I dunno if Godric ever told you, but I studied history when I was with him.” There was a memory in your voice, the long nights of sitting at a table with books older than most countries spread out before you, spells dancing in your head as you tried everything you knew to memorize the information. You cleared your throat, your eyes burning. “Sorry,” you muttered. You started towards your room.

“How did you ever meet Godric?”

You stopped in front of your door. It was thick, with a silver knob, and had a fitting at the top and bottom much like a front door. Hesitantly, you looked back at Eric. He was watching you. His nose had started to bleed.

You swallowed. “Just…an ad in the paper,” you said. He arched an eyebrow. You shrugged. “He had a room for a human and no one else wanted to live with a bunch of vampires.” You leaned against your door as you remembered. “Whoever put the ad in the paper was really bad about it. Free room and board, just…a place to live up for whoever wanted it. The catch was just that you’d be living in danger.” You laughed at that and swallowed again. “When I called, he answered. And I asked him what the catch was.”

You tilted your head up to look into Eric’s eyes. “He just said he wanted to remember what it was to human,” you finished. Your eyes started to water. “Such a stupid fucking Godric answer.” Your voice caught on your words and you looked down. “I should’ve known something was wrong, what kind of vampire just offers a human that?” Your voice wavered and your pressed your hands to your mouth.

The floor creaked as Eric crossed the hall to you. His hands cupped the back of your head as he pulled you to him. You sobbed. Eric stared at the ceiling as blood pooled in the corner of his eye.

He cleared his throat and his hands carded through your messy hair. “Get some sleep,” he grunted. He pulled away and headed down the hall, opening a door at the end. He had disappeared before you opened your own door.

The sun poured through two massive windows. Between the two, taking up a corner, was a bookshelf full of familiar worn spines and stitch bound papers. In an opposite corner was a table with shelves that held everything you ever used for your craft: herbs and spices, a mortar and pestle of dark marble, journals filled with your thoughts and personal spells. In the third corner was a queen sized bed with sheets that looked far too inviting. In the last, behind your door, was a hall that led to a master bathroom. Between your room and it was a closet. What little clothes you had filled it and there was still space.

You shut the door behind you and leaned against it as fresh tears rolled down your cheeks.


	3. ~03~

You stood behind the bar, hands under a stream of hot water as you cleaned glass after glass. Fangtasia was filled with people, from gothic trending fang bangers to a married couple with four kids, each wearing a fanny pack. Every single person gawked at the vampires that wore as little clothing as they felt comfortable with. The vampires, on the other hand, just looked bored.

You felt out of place in your own jeans and tee-shirt. At least the shirt said Fangtasia. You set the glasses aside and moved to clean out emptied True Blood bottles.

One change you had implemented: the bottles could be recycled. They were glass, after all. As you emptied one of its remaining contents and water, you wondered if you could use them for flower vases. You could paint them, and your room needed some life in it. Besides you. You set them aside in an empty True Blood crate and turned to help the next person that stepped up to the bar.

Someone leaned on the bar next to the customer – a male vampire, maybe forty – and tilted their head drastically to one side. You turned to grab the bottle of O Negative that he had requested and set it in the microwave.

“Let’s see those fangs, big boy,” the young woman asked. She hissed. “I’ll scream and call you daddy if you want. And let you drink as long as you’d like.”

You set the bottle down with an audible thud. “I’m sorry, but Fangtasia policy states no biting on the premise,” you pointed out. You smiled and it was tired. “If you wanna proposition people biting you, please take it outside?” She raised her head like she wanted to protest. “I’m not saying you can’t take him home,” you interrupted, “Just…fangs are only for show. Okay?”

She walked away, sleeves trailing behind her. You apologized to the vampire before you and focused on the spot between his eyebrows. You saw him smile. “Smart,” he commented.

You smiled back, lips pressed tightly together. “I lived in a nest,” you stated, “I know the tricks.”

“So if you don’t live with a nest anymore, does that mean you’re free to borrow?” he asked. He leaned onto the bar.

You almost met his gaze. Instead, you rolled your eyes up to the ceiling and gave a flattered laugh. “Um, you’d have to ask the boss man,” you said. You inclined your head to the throne at the front of the room. “He kinda calls the shots and sets the curfew.”

The vampire paid and left.

The night persisted.

It was maybe two hours before dawn when you and Pam ushered out the last drunken human and shut the doors behind them. You sighed and looked around the room, rolling your shoulders. You already ached from how much you’d have to clean.

Pam patted your back. “He calls the shots?” she repeated to you. She was very amused, as the lift of her eyebrows indicated. “Don’t say that too loud, he’ll get an ego.”

“I’m not sure what you’re taking about, Pam,” came Eric’s voice. He had lost the opened button up he had been wearing. “I don’t have an ego.” He lifted his head towards the front door. Pam released an exaggerated yawn as she turned to leave.

“Good night, Pam!” you called.

“Honey buns,” she answered. She was gone before you could react.

Eric chuckled as he walked behind you, tapping his knuckles against the bar. “I think she likes you,” he said. You turned to him. He leaned back against the lip and crossed his arms. “Consider yourself blessed.”

“I don’t think that’s the word,” you said slowly. He chuckled again. You felt him watch you as you fetched the mop.

“I’m still having trouble understanding why you would live in a nest of vampires,” he said once you started to clean the floor. “Free room and board isn’t a big enough offer for a human to live in danger.”

“It was at the time,” you said. You scrubbed at a particularly stubborn stain on the floor. “I was having trouble holding down a job and school was more than difficult. Not having to worry about bills was a great stress reliever.” You huffed and tried to scrub with your shoe. “You know I’m a witch, right?”

“Yes, Godric told me,” he said, “Spelled it out very carefully in his letter.”

You heaved a sigh and leaned on the mop, staring at him. “Godric had knowledge. I dropped out of school when I learned that. He had…centuries of thought and advice. And I knew I could learn my craft just talking to him.”

Eric’s eyebrows knit together. His arms tensed as he readjusted himself on the bar. “How is that?”

You smiled. You carefully twirled with the mop as a wistful smile crossed your face. “Magic is just math and science looked at differently,” you answered. You tilted your head and your smile became crooked and sly. “And poetry, I suppose. Linguistics. Uh…” You laughed. It was small and shy. “It’s a university degree put to use in a different manner without the stress of money.” You stopped twirling and face him. “And he knew it all.” Eric’s face was blank. “You don’t like talking about witchcraft, do you?” you asked.

“It’s dangerous,” he answered. You pushed the mop across the floor until you could turn and lean against the bar.

“How so?” you asked.

“Hundreds of years ago, a witch decided to cast a spell and vampires across her city rose to meet the sun,” he said.

You laughed nervously. “I don’t practice necromancy. I cast stuff you’d see in _Charmed_ or uh…._Craft_. Just…silly stuff. Stuff to make life easier for me. I pray to my deities and keep to myself.” You shrugged. “And staying in your lane keeps you alive longer.”

He snorted then, the sound disappearing into a few soft chuckles. He had emotion again. His hand found its way into your hair as he gently shook your head. “Don’t stay here too long,” he said, “The bar opens at sundown.”

“Yes, sir,” you droned.

Eric smirked. He purposefully walked around you, leaning closer until his lips brushed your ear. “I could get used to that,” he purred.

It took you too long to stutter, “I thought you didn’t have an ego!”


	4. ~04~

Even living with a vampire had its downfalls sometimes.

You woke up in the middle of the day, half asleep and muttering to yourself about the remnants of your dreams. You weren’t sure what woke you. As you looked around your room – darkened by black out curtains but still lit up by the midday sun – you heard the sound again.

A thud.

You bolted up from your bed and stumbled to the door on your tiptoes. You carefully pulled it open.

You heard people. They were swearing to themselves and to the house. You could smell gas.

You looked around and carefully picked up the plain athame on your altar. It was silver and old and sharp. Good against bad guys. You pulled your door shut behind you as you crept into the hall. You tried to think of what you could do – any spells or if you could move faster than a man that wanted to burn your house down – when the door next to you opened. Eric pulled it shut as quietly as he had opened it and stared at you, fangs hanging over his bottom lip. He held a finger to his lips for you to stay quiet.

Then he was gone.

The men screamed.

Then nothing. You clutched your athame with both hands.

“You can come down now,” Eric called. You hesitated. Exhaled slowly and felt an ache in your chest disappear. Released your knife and let it fall to the ground. “Hello?” he sang. You started down the stairs, pausing at the bend. His face and neck were covered in blood. He held one man by the shoulder – body limp and very obviously lifeless – while he sucked the blood from his fingers.

You waved weakly at him as you slid down another step. “Is that necessary?” you asked.

He looked down at the body. “It would be a waste not to eat him, now, wouldn’t it?” he asked. He dropped the body and stepped over it, bloody hands gripping both the wall and the banister as he stared at you. “Unless you’re offering.”

“Nope, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t.”

“I did just save your life.”

“No, you saved your house,” you pointed out. You nodded as you spoke. “See, if I woke up to the fire, I could at least go outside and escape it.” The playfulness that had been on Eric’s face started to fade. You cleared your throat. “You saved my life?” you offered.

“See, now that’s what I thought you said,” he replied. His eyes flitted over your shoulder. “Now, what were you planning to do with that?” he asked.

You looked back at your athame on the floor. “Stab them?” you tried.

“Stab them,” he repeated.

You snapped your head back. “Look, I’m still half asleep, okay? Stabbing them sounded pretty good.” Eric snorted and released the banister, turning to scoop up the dead man from the floor. You sat heavily on one of the steps. “I know a spell or two to protect homes from invasion and ill intent. They should work to keep people from breaking in like this,” you mumbled.

You heard an unnervingly familiar slurping sound. Glancing up, you found Eric leaning against one wall, man held up to his mouth as he fed. The man’s head was at such an angle that you knew his neck was broken. Eric was noisily sucking from the open gash he had created. “Is that necessary?” you asked again. Your voice was smaller this time.

“No,” he answered lightly, “Though I could use a straw.” Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to respond. He dropped the man again. “If you could, help me take these men to the kitchen. There’s a freezer in there that could preserve them well enough.” Eric rolled around the corner and disappeared.

You stood with a shake of your head. “Vampires are so weird.”

“I heard that!” he called. Eric eyed you as you entered the room. “Have you seen a dead body before?” he asked. You shook your head, staring at the last of the men. Their gas cannister was sitting upright next to them. “Then that’s the shock talking.” He knelt and grabbed on pair of shoulder. “Grab the feet? They’re starting to smell.”


	5. ~05~

The night was young and cloudless, the moon seeping through your windows. You focused on the plant in front of you, a tiny tree that was struggling to live. You had tried spells, watered it, tried to new soil. Nothing was working. You were devastated.

A knock on your door broke your concentration. You looked up, standing, stumbling across the room and pulling your door open. Eric stood on the other side, hands clasped behind his back, head down so he could not only stare at you but avoid hitting his head against the door frame.

“You sounded like you could use some assistance,” he said. He stepped into the room, pulling whatever was behind his back around to his front to avoid you seeing it. “Lucky for you, I know a little bit a magic myself.”

You scrunched your nose at the thought and turned to him, watching his back. His shoulders tensed as his arms moved and he knelt before your tree. “I doubt that?” you asked. A metallic smell hit your nose. It was so strong, so pungent, you almost gagged. You pressed your hand over your mouth instead. “What is that?”

“My magic,” Eric stated. He looked over his shoulder and stood. Whatever he held returned to his back as he turned to you. “Did you know,” he said slowly, “That blood can help fertilize soil.”

“Yes?” you said very slowly. You stared at your tree. “Did you just give my tree blood?”

“Maybe.” He started for the door and you moved for the tree. The soil was damp and dark, the liquid having seeped into the dirt. When you turned, Eric was already gone.

“Eric!” you shouted. You tore after him, sliding across the floor and hurrying down the stairs. He was placing the jar of blood back in the fridge when you slid into the kitchen. “That better not be crazy guy blood.”

“Blood is blood, who cares where it comes from,” he commented.

“I care where it comes from, I don’t want my tree to become twisted and ugly,” you snapped.

“Your tree will only become twisted and ugly if you don’t take care of it,” he replied.

“Coming from the guy that just poured old dead guy blood into my tree soil,” you pointed out. You crossed your arms and stomped your foot. “The **older undead guy** that just poured **old actual dead guy** blood into my tree soil,” you corrected.

“Semantics?” he asked. He arched an eyebrow. “Why are you getting so upset about this? If your tree gets better, great, you can use the rest of the blood in the fridge to feed your _Little Shop of Horrors_ horticulture project.”

“Please don’t compare my tree to Audrey II,” you muttered.

He shrugged a shoulder. “It is very unlikely that your tree is going to feed on people and spawn into smaller trees to try to take over the world,” he replied.

You paused, mouth open, as you turned and leaned against the counter. Rolling your eyes up to the ceiling, you jumped and carefully planted yourself onto the counter. Eric groaned and pushed away from the wall. “I’m in shock that you’ve actually watched that movie.”

“Why are you sitting on the counter?”

“Because it’s right here? Did you see it in theaters or wait until it came out on VHS?”

“Theaters, and I took Pam. It was a sort of date. We have chairs. They are more comfortable than a marble counter.”

“Aww, how cute. Do you guys always go to horror movies for dates, or is just when the mood strikes?” You stopped, narrowing your eyes at him. “Marble?”

“Virgin marble, I picked this slab out myself,” he answered, planting his hands on either side of your hips, “So remove your round ass from it or I will.”

You narrowed your eyes even more. Your mouth started up before you brain could even set the breaks, your voice coming out in the most exaggerated outrage you could muster, “What would Godric say, hearing you threaten me in such a manner?”

You were hauled six feet into the air and thrown over a shoulder, shrieking all the while. “Godric!” Eric declared as he carried you across the kitchen and into the living room, “Would agree with me that you should not sit on counters!” His hand came down not unkindly on your rear as he dislodged you from his shoulder and dropped you onto the couch. You gasped, the air escaping your lungs, blinking hard at the distance of the fall. “It’s uncouth.”

You threw a pillow at him. “Dick.”


	6. ~06~

The hours before sundown marked the start of your shift. You walked towards Fangtasia, checking your phone as you walked, mumbling how you were only a few minutes late. You didn’t even see Ginger standing in the middle of the sidewalk, causing you to run right into her shoulder.

She screamed.

You almost dropped your phone.

“Ginger, oh my—” You fumbled your phone, catching it carefully, and patted her face. “Shh, okay, stop screaming?”

“Oh, hun, it’s just you,” she finally said. You stared at her. “Did you see this? What someone did to our parking lot?” Her hands fluttered against your hair and turned your head to the parking lot. It was a mess, nothing more than usual—oh. Someone had decided to tag the parking bumpers with things like “dirty fangers” and “fucking fangers” and other such…creative words. The rest of the parking lot was just trashed. You sighed at the sight.

“Alright, its…fine.” You patted her back. “Lets get inside. We’ll tell Eric and Pam and I’ll come clean it up, too.”

“You think they’ll be mad?” she whispered as you both made your way to the door.

“Do they ever actually get mad?” you asked. You glanced back down the road, towards the house you couldn’t see. “Probably just annoyed.” You patted her back again and ushered her to the door. “How about you get the bar ready? And I’ll start on cleaning this, okay?”

“Are you sure, hun?” She looked over her shoulder as she shuffled along, heels scratching on the pavement. You wondered how she was still standing with how she was moving along. “I can help.”

You smiled. “And ruin your cute skirt?” She looked down at the skin tight mini and grinned. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She smoothed her hands down her skirt and shrugged, mumbling how it was just an old thing and it was nothing special. You shook your head. “I’ll take care of this, don’t worry.”

“Are you absolutely sure?” she asked as she opened the door.

You nodded slowly as she walked inside. “Absolutely.” She shut the door behind her. Looking around, you hauled your bag further up your shoulder and dug around it in, making your way in the general direction of the graffiti in the parking lot. You felt your freezing water bottle at the bottom of the bag and yanked it out from under your books, sighing. You opened it, took a sip, then upended the rest of the water onto the pavement.

You set your bag and bottle down and crouched in front of the puddle, shaking your hands out. You held the over the puddle. And focused.

Focused harder.

Flexed your fingers.

You dropped your head when the water did nothing. Readjusting your position, you shook your hands out and held them closer to the water. “C’mon, just…work.” You exhaled slowly and concentrated on the water. “Clean. Please.” The word was barely a breath on your lips.

The water rippled. You stilled as a cold film gathered over your palms. The water weaved through the indentions of the pavement and crept up the bumpers until they covered the letters and nothing else. The cold on your palms solidified and exploded, slicing your palms, and the words melted away.

You jumped to your feet and turned your hands over, staring at the spiderweb of cuts on your hands. They beaded an angry red in the dying light.

A large hand cupped yours. You watched as it was lifted up to a familiar face, one whose cool eyes watched you in return as he licked the blood away. “Perhaps you **don’t** do that again?” he suggested. He lifted your other hand and sucked the blood away. “Especially so close to night.”

The words were hard coming, stuttering over your tongue, “Aren’t you supposed to ask? Before you—”

“Before I what?” Eric shot back. He arched an eyebrow. “Keep you from being the bar snack?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Sure…that.”

He checked your hands, ran his thumbs over the pale slices in your skin. “Nothing more than papercuts,” he mused. He tilted his head. “Is this another time I’ve saved your life?”

You yanked your hands away from him. “No?”

“My, your debt to me is just racking up by the second.”

“You’re such a dick!”

“Hm, so you’ve said.”


	7. ~07~

You sat on the couch, staring at your hands, turning them around slowly. The marks from your attempt at a spell in the Fangtasia parking lot were still there, now scarred, as though your hands had been gouged. You narrowed your eyes as you ran your fingers over the scars. They didn’t even pucker, just….sat under your skin, like a tattoo.

“Is something wrong?” You glanced up as Eric leaned against the doorway to the living room, crossing his arms, staring. “Every time I catch you alone, you’re just staring at your hands.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

You puffed your cheeks at him. “Shouldn’t you be asleep? It’s like…two in the afternoon.”

“It’s four,” he corrected, snorting when you scrambled to look at your phone. “And I can be awake when I want to be.”

You dropped your phone in your lap with a huff. “Fine. What do you want?”

Eric paused, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as he stared at you. “Why, you’re rather feisty today.” He pushed away from the wall and wandered over, falling into the open space next to you. “I think I like this feisty you.”

“I’m not feisty.” You rearranged yourself on the couch until you were tucked into one-half of the cushions. “I’m…”

“Feisty,” Eric offered. He stretched his arms over the back of the couch.

“No!” you protested. “Just…annoyed? I dunno.” You lifted your hands back up to examine them. “Why are you so hooked on the word ‘feisty’?”

“Have you never woken up with the urge to use a specific word all day?” he asked in return.

You tilted your head. “….Facetious.” You stared at your hands. “They weren’t this bad when you looked at them before, were they?” you asked. You held one out to him, continuing to stare at the perfectly formed web on your palm. You felt his cool fingers hook around your hand and tug you closer to him.

“Bad is not the word I would use,” he murmured. You dropped your head back against the couch, watching as he examined your hand. “Was that the first time you’ve actually used magic?” he asked. His thumb traced a line to the middle of your palm, then up between your fingers. He was gentle.

“Perhaps the first time I’ve…ever tried an actual spell, yes.” His eyes snapped to your face. You shrugged. “It seemed like an okay time to try.”

“But you’ve never actually used magic before?”

“You know, you don’t get to judge me on my ability of witchcraft.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” he asked. You shrugged. “What spells do you know, then? Ones that aren’t dangerous?”

You stared at him. He was as still as a statue. You didn’t even think he was breathing. “Honestly? I’ve made a bunch of my own spells, but I’ve never had a chance to use them.” You shrugged again and pulled your hand away from his chilled touch. “It just feels better to write them out. And that wasn’t a dangerous spell, honestly. It was just a cleaning spell, but I was…so focused on it that maybe I put too much energy into it.”

“What other spells?” he prompted. He shifted on the couch, leaned into the back of it with his elbow resting on the pillows. “Show me.”

You squinted at him. “I thought vampires didn’t like magic? You said so yourself.”

“We don’t, and for good reason. But I trust I can take care of you if need be.”

He meant to kill you.

You frowned, brow furrowed. “What would Godric think?”

“He’s gone.” He motioned at you with a nod of his head. “Show me.” This time, it wasn’t a suggestion.

You took a deep breath and looked down at your hands, tracing your eyes over the webs of scars that formed. You knew a very simple spell, one that you had practiced time and again – an energy focusing spell. You cupped your hands in front of you, holding them as though you were catching water, and closed your eyes.

Energy focusing required an image in your mind, something that was just energy, pulsating, hot, thriving energy. You were always drawn to the image of stars. You straightened your back. Your palms grew warm. You imagined trees unfurling their thick, lush leaves beneath the light of the sun and sucking in the energy it provided. You—

Frozen hands slapped yours together, jolting you from your thoughts. You snapped your eyes open. Eric towered over you, pushing you back into the couch, clenching your hands tight between his own. His skin was pink. Thin tendrils of smoke rose up from him in various spots. When he opened his mouth to speak, his fangs were drawn. “You’re a dangerous little hedgewitch, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” you stuttered.

“Did Godric actually send you, or did someone forge that letter?”

“How dare you—”

“How dare I? I didn’t just make a sun in the living room.” He was even closer to you, forehead almost touching yours.

You swallowed a lump in your throat. “I just did what you asked me,” you whispered, “I showed you a spell I knew, it's just an energy focusing spell, it doesn’t actually produce anything.”

“And yet it did.”

“I’m sorry!” You tugged on your hands to pull them free. “Let me go, you’re hurting me.”

His eyes roamed your face before he let you go, his hand settling on the arm of the couch and the back behind your head. You ducked under his arm down the couch until you could remove yourself from it. His fangs clicked back into place. “We’ll keep this our secret.”

“Keep what our secret?” you demanded. You rubbed your hands. You glanced down at your palms and stopped.

“The fact that you really have magic.”

You didn’t respond for a long moment, focused on your now unscarred palms. “Right,” you finally murmured. You tucked your hands under your elbows and gave yourself a squeeze. “Right.”


	8. ~08~

The rate at which Eric kept things from you was jarring, to say the least. Most of all, the fact that he would never tell you when he was holding “meetings” in his office. So when you knocked and opened the door, mouth opening to say he had a visitor in the form of someone named Bill Compton, you didn’t expect to come face first with a very naked Eric plowing the new dancer into his desk.

You turned away with a small yelp of surprise, clearing your throat as you leaned against the office door and faced the hall. You heard the dancer swear in something other than English as Eric stopped.

“….Yes?”

The son of a bitch was on the verge of laughter. You almost turned around to yell at him, thought better of it, and tapped the toe of your shoe against the floor.

“You have a **visitor**,” you stated, “I’m not your secretary, and for fucks sake, it’s an office.”

You could **feel** him lean over your shoulder. “It’s my office. You’re my human, so basically my secretary.” You whirled around to glare at him, keeping your eyes locked on his face. Eric brace a hand above your head and leaned in, an amused smile tugging up his lips. “See something you like?”

“I should hit you.”

“Kinky.”

“Someone named Bill is here for you?”

The smile fell from his face. The annoyance melted from yours. “What?” you asked. Eric snapped something at the dancer on his desk, looking back to make sure she followed whatever it was he said. She huffed, glared at you as she dressed, and left, shoulder brushing against yours. Eric’s hand clamped over your arm to keep you steady. “What is it?” you asked again.

“Was he alone?”

“Yes?”

Eric released you then, turning away to grab his jeans from the desk. You eyed his back as he pulled them on. “What’s going on?”

“Business.”

“You’re an awful liar.”

He yanked his shirt from his chair and turned to you. “I’m really not.”

You frowned. “What business do you do…?” You watched him tug the shirt down. “Eric?”

“I’m sure that, during your time with Godric, you saw vampires dealing with Area business,” he commented. You nodded. “This is Area business.” He brushed past you, paused in the hall, looked back at you. “Stay here.”

“What? No, I still have inventory to do.”

Eric crossed the hall to you in two long steps. He grabbed your arms and guided you backwards, until your butt hit the edge of the desk. “Stay. Here.” His eyes traveled over your face and his voice dropped to a whisper, “No one but Pam knows I have a human. Let alone one that is a witch.” His eyes flicked down to your hands. You folded them under your arms. “So stay.”

“**Fine**.”

He finally released you. You rolled your shoulders. “He seems nice,” you murmured, “I don’t see why he can’t know you have a human.”

“Because I don’t trust him.” You watched him leave the office and pull the door closed with a slam.

Once he was gone, you stuck your tongue out at the door. “Rude…” You glanced around the office. You patted your pocket and pulled out your phone, scrolling through it until you could see your notebook app buried amongst the other apps on your phone. As you made yourself comfortable on the desk, you tapped your fingers against your phone case. Biting your lip, you started typing:

Bluebell for truth, chicory for removing obstacles, snake root for luck? Perhaps a blue velvet bag to strength the truth, a sigil even, one stitched into the bag.

You swallowed a lump in your throat and glanced at the door. A stone started to form in your stomach. Maybe it wasn’t smart to perform magic around Eric anymore…but, you also didn’t want to live in a space with secrets…

You stared at the note and saved it, shoving it into your pocket. You absently stared at your palm before you crossed your arms again. Magic…


	9. ~09~

You stretched over the couch, staring at the ceiling as you rolled the satchel around in your hand. The chunk of aquamarine inside weighed it down and made it easier to handle, though you wondered if the crushed herbs inside would get pressed into the stitches of the bag and fall out. But it wasn’t your first concern. Honestly, you didn’t know what your first concern was.

What did another vampire want with Eric that killed his mood so violently?

Why did Godric send you here, when you could have stayed at the nest?

Why did Eric even agree to take in a human witch?

You sighed and dropped your arms over your face, covering your eyes. How would you even start to ask him those questions?

The stairs creaked with a slow weight. You checked your phone for the time, then craned your neck to see Eric rounding the stairs and into the living room.

“Good morning,” you commented. A hand very gently patted your head as he walked past you. The tops of very bright underwear peeked over the tops of the loose sweatpants he had donned. “Did you sleep well?” you ventured.

He paused at the fridge. “Why?”

You shrugged. “Just making morning small talk.”

“It’s not morning.”

“It is for you.” You tilted your head and sat up as an idea came to you. “Do vampires dream?”

He shut the fridge harder than necessary. “It depends on the vampire. I’m pretty sure Bubba doesn’t even go to ground.” Eric stopped as the words left his mouth, eyes narrowing. His lips moved as he spoke to himself.

You clenched the satchel in your hand. Leaning over the arm of the couch, you propped your chin up with the other, the epitome of innocent curiosity. “Whose Bubba?”

“Elvis Presley.” His jaw snapped shut as the name left his mouth, a gate too slow to close.

You sat up with a slow, stunned smile. Eric, on the other hand, focused on you. “Someone made Elvis a vampire?”

“He’s not a very good one, too many drugs were left in his system.” He was suddenly at the couch, looming over you, catching your free hand as you tried to lean back. “What did you do?” He pulled your arm towards him, trapping you awkwardly against his chest and the arm of the couch. His eyes followed the curve of your neck, down your shoulder, to the hand that clenched around your satchel. It took far too long for him to look you in the eye again.

“Why didn’t you want Bill Compton to know you had a human?” you asked.

“I don’t trust him.”

At least he had been honest about that. You squeezed the satchel until the raw edges of the stone inside bit into your palm. “What did he want?”

Eric yanked on your arm, making it pop, pulling you up and onto the arm of the couch, and twisting you around until your back was flush against him and his arm a steel rod over your chest. His other hand now held yours and your satchel. “To tell me that some of the vampires in Bon Temps have vanished.” He ripped the satchel from your grasp and all but tossed it over his shoulder. You heard it connect with a counter in the kitchen so hard that something cracked.

His fingers gripped your chin and tilted your face towards his. “Don’t. Do that. Again.” He held you in such a tight grasp that it was difficult to move your jaw.

“I needed some answers.”

“And you couldn’t have asked?” He tilted your chin up further. “This is almost a preferable look for you…” he mused absently.

“No?” you wheezed between clenched teeth. “And would you have answered me?”

He released you without warning, leaving you to fall forward onto the couch. The impact with the cushions winded you. “No.” You pressed your forehead into the couch and took a slow, deep breath. “But I might have considered it.”

You turned your head and carefully rolled onto your side, watching him return to the kitchen. “What do you mean vampires are disappearing?”

His voice was muffled with his response, “It’s not your concern!” You frowned at that, pulled your knees to your chest and continued to lie on your side. There was a ding. Eric walked back into the living room with a hard plastic container in a suspiciously juice pouch shape. He slurped out of it with a straw. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over it, is what I mean”

You made a small sound of disagreement and hugged your knees tighter. “…What are you drinking.”

“Day old Ginger. Would you like a taste?”

“Ew…”

**Author's Note:**

> SO! This is my ~homage~ to True Blood, and the Sookie Stackhouse series. I've loved this series for....a very long time. And its about time that I wrote something for it. So here it is! Its...probably one of my more popular stories over on tumblr, as every time I post a new chapter, someone binges the whole thing? So I wanted to share it!! :D I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS!!!!!!


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